


ed kemper and ted bundy walk into a bar

by ficfucker



Series: seduction through true crime - a dogtruth collection [1]
Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Clothed Sex, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Premature Ejaculation, Teasing, sorry here is my shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 19:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17007672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: marcus gets suddenly handsy with ben while recording an ep in the studio





	ed kemper and ted bundy walk into a bar

**Author's Note:**

> this started as safe for work dialog practice

The touch is nothing new. 

When Ben starts to daft out during lengthy explanations of things like government conspiracies involving pedophelic brainwashing rings, Marcus will give Ben a tap, a nudge, and he springs back to life with an affirming “Oh, absolutely”.

The placement of the touch, however, is completely foreign to Ben. 

They’re recording for their Elisa Lam episode and Henry is going on and on about how kids who travel alone are the easiest targets for murder and sex trafficking, giving examples of young women who go on vacation cruises and never turn up again. 

And Ben’s eyes are crossing. It was too hot to sleep last night, even stripped down to his underwear, and his coffee has yet to kick in. 

And then Marcus is brushing his fingers over Ben’s thigh, presumably to get his attention, and Parks got it, because Ben full-body jolts and knees the table in front of him. It makes a loud  _ whump _ . 

“Jesus, what’s happening over there?” Henry asks. He’s out in California for the week for some voice acting opportunities, so only Marcus and Ben are in the studio. 

“Ben doinked himself off the table,” Marcus replies, wheezing out some chalky giggles.

“Oh, Big Limbs Ben  _ himself _ ? Doinkin’ off tables? You think he’d  _ learn _ by now!”

Marcus breaks into another fit of amused laughter and grins over his cup of coffee at Ben and in that moment, Marcus looks exactly like the sadistic little fuck fans usually drew him as. All he’s missing is a human skull to pet. 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Bumblebutt Ben knocking shit over. Can we move on? I thought we had a dead girl to discuss.” He already feels dumb enough, he doesn’t need Henry ragging on him (more than usual).

“Yeah, Marcus, tell us  _ more _ about the drowned girl in her early 20s.”

And Marcus does, going into detail about the hotel layout, where the water tank was located, how Ramirez had stayed there before. 

Henry naturally begins to mimic Ramirez in a vaguely racist accent and one-man voices an  interaction between a hotel maid and a famous serial killer. Something about needing leather bed sheets and complaints over bodies found crammed into unconventional places with pentagrams carved into them, Ben isn’t really listening anymore. 

Marcus has touched Ben before. Friends do that. Hell, there are plenty of photos of the three of them all crammed together, smiling big and usually a little sweaty, arms slung around a corresponding neck on Instagram, on Google. And Marcus has touched Ben on the knee to get his attention, but never that far up. Never the thigh. 

“And now:  _ theories _ ,” Marcus says once Henry has run out of steam, dropping his voice low for the drama of it all. It snaps Ben back into focus. 

“We don’t uh, do many unsolved,” he comments.

“I think it’s easiest to just, you know, map out the whole crime from start to end-”

Henry interrupts with: “Yeah, because-because with unsolved cases, our listeners just have fuckin’- three crackpot nobodies spouting off insane theories for a half hour.”

“Oh, so you think they come here for the  _ facts _ ?” Ben asks, faux flabbergasted. 

“Jesus,  _ I’d _ like to think so, with the days of research I’ve got goin’ here,” Marcus huffs. “Not to mention the help of assistants.”

“Oh, yeah,  _ assistants _ ,” Henry mocks.

“They’re real people, Henry!” Marcus insists. “They have names-”

“Okay, okay, but back to Elisa, so uh, have you guys- you’ve heard of uh-uh what- _ what’s _ her name? The black girl who was-was found dead in the freezer of that hotel somewhere like a-a year ago.” Henry is starting to jumble his words, so excited with himself he can’t get them all out correctly.

“Kenneka Jenkins?” Marcus posits calmly.

“Yes! Thank you.”  
“Kenneka Jenkins?” Ben asks. It’s mostly to direct Henry the right way: to give a bit of backstory instead of just firing off aimlessly without including any context to her death. Even if he zones out a bit, Ben stills feels obligated to keep things on the right track when he can. 

Henry dives into an explanation of what happened, how she was found, the footage that went along with the case, with Marcus adding little drops of his own knowledge in, too. Henry is on the brink of what Ben knows will be a long speech about the similarities of the girls and how hotels love to turn a blind eye on shit like this.

And while Henry is ranting about how America doesn’t give a rat’s ass about dead girls of color, Ben glances down at the script between him and Marcus. There’s maybe a half hour of recording left, maybe a little more to ensure Marcus has enough good content when it comes to editing later. 

Ben is still squinting down at the paper when Marcus let’s his hand drift to Ben’s thigh for a second time that day. It’s only his pinky and ring finger resting precariously on Ben’s jeans, barely brushing there, but the difference is he has yet to pull away. 

Ben risks a glance up at him and gives him an unsure, quizzical look, an eyebrow quirked and Marcus just shrugs, a tiny smile on his lips. 

“And-and the mother...! The  _ poor _ ,  _ ignored _ mother, is on the-the news rallying for further investigation-”

“ _ Off topic _ , Henry,” Marcus croons in a sing-song voice meant to be warning. “We can’t go on about Kennecka this long without renaming the whole episode to Dead Girls in Hotels,” Marcus pushes.

“Well then fucking  _ name _ it that! Girls turn up dead in hotels all the time!”

“Not  _ that _ often...,” Ben adds.

“Oh, bullshit. The government just doesn’t want us  _ knowing _ ! I bet  _ half _ our listeners don’t even know who Kennecka is and they’re a fucked up audience to have!”

“We’ve gotta stop calling them fucked up,” Ben gripes. “Guys, if you’re still tuned in, we truly do care about yo-”

“If-if-if uh, you’re still tuned in, let us know if -  _ tell us _ if you’ve heard of Kennecka Jenkins,” Henry starts saying, speaking over Ben, before Marcus huffs and cuts in with, “No more, Kennecka Jenkins, Henry! That’s a separate case!”

Marcus and Henry bicker back and forth for a minute or two, voices raising, and all the while, Marcus is drifting his hand further to Ben’s thigh so it rests firmly there. Full palm. 

And when Marcus squeezes, Ben makes an awful, embarrassing  _ sllllhhck _ sound as the coffee he’s trying to drink is sucked down the wrong pipe and he breaks out into a tantrum of coughing followed by wheezing. 

“Jeez, what’d ya  _ do _ ? Swallow a fly?” Henry asks, dropping his flimsy argument with Marcus.

Marcus is giggling again and his hand hasn’t moved from where it’s placed.

“Can it, Zebrowski,” Ben gripes, trying to clear out his throat, his eyes welling with tears he wishes weren’t there.

“Is Ben gonna finally die on live radio?-”

“ _ This isn’t live _ ,” Ben croaks as Marcus (soothingly?) rubs little circles into his thigh. He hopes this part is going to be cut from the episode, but using his better judgement, knows Marcus will probably keep it in. 

“-I won’t even be there to see it! Marcus, you’re gonna have to CPR him up, I don’t wanna miss out on seeing his corpse in real time.”

“Good thing I took those first aid classes, huh?” Marcus beams and Ben pulls a face at how smug he sounds. 

Henry makes a few more comments about Ben’s death and subsequent funeral (“Oh, I’m sure the ole townsfolk will make a  _ big _ spectacle outta seein’ a dead orge in a suit.”) before things get back on track with the Elisa Lam case. Henry is positive it’s government conspiracy or demon possession. Ben comments regularly, adding decent input, asking a few questions, while Marcus creeps his hand further and further upwards. 

They’re plugging upcoming live shows and The Cowmen when Ben clamps his hand down over Marcus’s. He’s about three centimeters from Ben’s crotch and whether or not he’s worked up enough to be at half mast is not going to be revealed while recording. 

“Heil Gein!” Marcus shouts and his grin is from ear to ear. 

“Hail yourselves,” Ben adds and he hopes he doesn’t sound too meek. 

“Okay, guys, I gotta fuckin’ jet,” Henry says as soon as Marcus stops recording. 

“Hot date?” Marcus asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? But nah, just gotta get to the studio and do vocal warm ups.”

“Ah, right. Who are you voicing again?” Marcus slips off his headphones and passes them to Ben who sets them carefully on the table. He can’t believe how casual and compliant he’s being. 

“Cartoon leprechaun is all I know so far. Okay, okay, I really gotta run. Hail me.” 

And with that, the Skype call ends like a door closing, leaving Ben and Marcus alone. 

“Jesus, Marcus, what are you, off your medications or what?” Ben asks in a low, hissed voice, though there is no venom to it. 

“ _ Oh God, no…! _ ” Marcus shakes his head like the mere thought is unimaginable and starts to push away from the table, his hand finally slipping from Ben’s thigh, from out of his grip. 

Ben seizes him by the wrist. “Quitting cigarettes again?”

“No,  _ no _ , nothin’ like that.” Marcus turns further to the left so he’s fully facing Ben. There is a moment of noticeable hesitation but he props one knee up on Ben’s chair and leans in more than Ben would ever expect. 

Things are claustrophobic now. Ben is breathing in what Marcus is breathing out and the closeness has his erection, thankfully, flagging. 

“Then what?” 

“What?” Marcus asks back, overly innocent. He brings his other knee up onto the chair and shimmies forward so he’s seated perfectly in Ben’s lap. “Bros can’t feel up their bros?

Ben punches out a laugh. “You are  _ not _ young enough to be throwing around  _ ‘bro’ _ like that.”

Marcus cants his hips forward in a painfully slow thrust that brushes against Ben’s dick and gets him to sit a little more upright. “Oh, because, what? You’re qualified to judge?”

Ben feels so struck and dumb and of course, he’s got very little blood left in his brain to think with. His hands settle on Marcus’s hips and under the plaid shirt he’s wearing, Ben can feel the sharp bones there poking out of the skin like kickstands. He hates himself for thinking it, but god, Ben could just  _ break _ him. 

Instead of questioning the motive, Ben sputters out: “Have you  _ done _ this before?” He means the skillful frotting Marcus has going. 

“I’ve read enough Dahmer and Gacy to get my bearings.” Marcus swoops his head down and starts placing too-soft kisses to Ben’s neck and as soon as Ben feels a graze of teeth, his hips buck up. 

“Good  _ lord _ , please, don’t-don’t talk serial killers right now, oh my god.” 

“You don’t seem  _ too _ turned off by it.” Marcus laughs against Ben’s neck and when it teeters into giggles, he almost sounds feminine. 

Ben steadies the wave of thrusts Marcus is producing by guiding his motions with the grasp he has on his hips. He takes note of how Marcus is breathing a little harder now, panting humid breaths against his neck. “N-No true crime right now, Christ, Marcus.” 

“What, will you  _ punish _ me?” His voice gets soft and high in that weird, dirty way it does when he has a reason  to talk about something sexual on the show (ex: “What you don’t know is you’re around Horny Marcus  _ a loooot. _ ”).

Ben groans and lets his head fall back, wanting desperately to have fewer layers of clothes between them. “You sound like Henry.”

“Is that a problem, Ben?”

Ben exhales sharply, like the air is being forced out of him through a tube. “Greatly.”

Marcus snickers and flats his hands against Ben’s chest, dragging them down slow until his left hand is atop the bulge in Ben’s pants and his right hand is pressed lightly to Ben’s stomach. 

“You’re killing me-”

“-That’s my goal-”

“-Don’t-”  
“Big trophy for my collection.” Marcus is rubbing his palm feverishly over the tented denim and Ben is digging his nails deep into the soft, thin skin of Marcus’s hips. 

“I don’t even  _ want _ to  _ know _ what that means.”

Marcus leans back so he’s looking Ben in the eye and grins, just enough that his top teeth show a sliver and Ben thinks they look off somehow. He remembers seeing comments on instagram about folks thinking Marcus looks ill or a little odd and Ben agrees in the moment, they have talked about it on the show before; how if Marcus loses anymore weight, he’ll look terminal. Though, he also recalls all the other comments from their fans about how cute Marcus is. 

Something about boyish charm and his radio voice. And his eyes. People go nuts over his eyes.

Ben starts to wonder if his coffee was spiked without him knowing. 

“Don’t like - ah-  Bundy style dirty talk?” Marcus asks and he’s back to rutting against Ben, little shuddery jolts going through him, his slender shoulders hunched together. 

“N-Not particularly, no, an-and quit teasing, lord-”

“You think  _ this _ is teasing?”

“ _ Yes _ , goddammit! Just-”

“Just  _ what _ , Ben?”

Ben grabs hold of Marcus even tighter and pulls him up into his lap properly, poised so his cock is pressed perfectly against his ass and Ben steels him like that so he can grind. Marcus makes a small, surprised sound that Ben might just liken to a squeak and will certainly use as blackmail later, but for now, he’s focused on the relief of friction. 

Marcus bows back, his head lolled off to the side, and despite the clothing between them, Ben knows he’s cumming from how rigid his body has gone; his face scrunches up and his mouth drops open and he makes a tiny strangled sound, his thighs quaking. He’s breathing hard and his eyes, when opened, are round enough that it looks like he’s had a religious experience. 

“Tha-That of all things did you in?” Ben huffs. He wishes he could sound meaner. 

Marcus, face flushed and hair hanging limp over his forehead, wiggles away out of Ben’s grip, who is still thrusting. He stops rutting and scowls at Marcus who lamely adjusts himself in his wet pants and wipes his hand on Ben’s thigh. He doesn’t seem embarrassed at all, not even over the fact that he shot off without actually being touched; that Ben manhandling him so simply, seemingly, did him in. 

“That was  _ reaaal _ fun, Ben, but I’ve got tons of research piling up and hell, I didn’t even mean for things to get this far today, I just figu-”

“Oh, that’s  _ it _ for you?” Ben asks, bewildered. Again, he wishes he could sound meaner.

“Yeah, you’re a big kid, Ben, you can handle yourself, can’t ya?” Marcus grins and starts gathering up some stray papers from the desk.

“Are you- you’re Ed Kemper-ing me! You shot off and now-now you’re going just like that! I’m not some  _ corpse _ you can hump and dump, you kn-”

Marcus giggles. “I don’t think I was  _ as _ excited as he was when he killed tha-”

“I know where you live, Marcus Parks, I swear to-”

“Well, now  _ that’s _ some Bundy style dirty talk! Good job, Ben.” Marcus already has most of his things packed up and he pats Ben on the back as he makes his way towards the door. 

“Do you treat your fleshlight like this, too?”

Marcus, who is stopped in the doorway, leans his head back and lets out a genuine laugh. To Ben, his teeth still appear odd and the way his skin cinches and folds, upturned, at the corners of his mouth is more unnerving than all the other times he’s seen Marcus laugh. “Eh, sometimes… when it’s naughty, I suppose.” And with that, Marcus takes his leave.

Ben puts his head down on the table in front of him and closes his eyes. All he can see in his eyelids is the image of a faceless girl floating on the surface of a black pool of water. She melts into the likeness of Marcus.

He groans and, with no shame left, finally, finally unzips his jeans. 

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhh congrats if you made it this far
> 
> edit as of tues may 14th: if you want to send this to the lads for them to read go for it, it was mentioned by title on stream tonight but travis skipped over it. ben mentioned marcus only watching in fics so why not give him what's missing? 
> 
> if the boys do read this: hi marcus, ben, and henry! sorry i did this!


End file.
